(" \' ,..-. " y 'J. I ."./ ./ t 1 ; ma-her only papa and mamma-to go nuts, would she? AMERys-It wouldn't be any sleeper jump. I mean-oh, excuse me, Mamma darling. And Papa dear. Don't chloroform little Amerys) folks. LIttle Amerys doesn't want to be chloroformed. Little Amerys wants to live. I'll be a good girl. PAPA-I doubt it. Come now, take your chloroform like a little lady. This hurts Papa more than it does you. Where's the cloth, Mamma? MAMMA-Here. AMERYS-I don't want to be chloro- formed. I won't be chloroformed. Help! PAPA-You hold her, Mamma. MAMMA-DelIghted to AMERYs- This is a fine trick you two. . . "Her lzouse is exactly what you'd expect" "My dear, it would be, wouldn't it!" >'> PAPA-Come now, breathe deep. You won't even know about it. AMERys-Help! Police! They're chloroforming me. H-hhhlllllpp- pppp (glug, glug, glug). E J../TER a neighbor. NEIGHBOR-What's all the com- motion about? P APA-Oh, we just chloroformed our little baby, Amerys. NEIGHBOR-You mean the forty- three-day-old talking child that told my wife she saw me flirting with two dames down by the esplanado? MAMMA-Yes. We thought it best to chloroform her and put her out of our mIsery. NEIGHBOR-Well, let me be the first to congratulate you. -FRANK SULLIVAN ÀUOVST 2.-3, 19 0 WILD OAT 5 " B UT why are there so many of you?" I asked. We were sit- ting in front of the Café de la Paix, at his special. request. "Aunt Dora didn't say anything in her last letter except that you mIght be here soon. You've waved at about fifteen men now and you all look alike." I felt a little aggrieved at it: so much youth in Paris all at once, and me twenty-fi ve if a day. "Well, you are a dum b ox," he said cheerfully. "It's the University, the Sailing University. I'm sure Mother wrote you about that I got in on it at the last minute." "Oh, yes. No women allowed. I remember A'''( . " now. "That's it," he said, pu tting his hands in his pockets. "1 was going to write you ahead of time but I didn't get round to it. We keep on the run all right. I certainly never expected to find you up so early this morning. I thought sure I'd be waking you up." "Early?" It was ten-thirty. "For Heaven's sake, don't you have to get up before that on the ship?" "Oh, that's different. This is Paris." He paused and I waited for him to sigh rapturously. When I was young, 1 used to sigh rapturously whenever 1 said "Paris;" "Paris" or "Stamboul" or "Tibet." But he didn't. I waited for two minutes, then he started to talk agaIn. " W E'RE always on the run," he said proudly. "We got in at nine-thirty and if I had stayed with the crowd 1 would have seen two cathedrals by lunchtime. But I got fed up. " "I know. Buses and Baedekers, isn't it?" "Well, that's not so bad. It's the crowd: I got fed up with the crowd. No life to 'em. The only ones that are any good are my cabin-mates: I guess we'll probably all flunk out. No, it's a good idea all right: you get educated; but it's a dumb bunch. Now, take Paris for instance." He waved at Paris and, incidentally, at two more of